Haitian Art Pieces

The Dancing

In all these rotten shops, in all this broken furniture
and wrinkled ties and baseball trophies and coffee pots
I have never seen a post-war Philco
with the automatic eye
nor heard Ravel's "Bolero" the way I did
in 1945 in that tiny living room
on Beechwood Boulevard, nor danced as I did
then, my knives all flashing, my hair all streaming,
my mother red with laughter, my father cupping
his left hand under his armpit, doing the dance
of old Ukraine, the sound of his skin half drum,
half fart, the world at last a meadow,
the three of us whirling and singing, the three of us
screaming and falling, as if we were dying,
as if we could never stop--in 1945--
in Pittsburgh, beautiful filthy Pittsburgh, home
of the evil Mellons, 5,000 miles away
from the other dancing--in Poland and Germany--
oh God of mercy, oh wild God.

Gerald Stern

*********************************

Who wants to do a roadtrip in September? Dodge Poetry
Festival? Just let me know. There are places to meet
that would be convenient.

I heard Stern read in 2006 and loved the work and him!
He was funny and cantankerous and filled with humor
and just the love of living.

If no one wants to do the road trip, than how about the meet
up? I am seriously saving my loose change and know I will
have enough. If I go alone, I do. Takers feel free to respond
here or email.

Maggie's been bitten--
she wants to hear the written
words spoken clearly
from those she loves dearly
at a little gathering in Waterloo
Village, never knowing who
will be there to open up the locked
corners of the mind, like a docked
boat set free from its tether,
let loose to roam, perhaps never
coming back to that marina, that dock--
the very act of loosening enough
to save her from the everyday fluff.

Aye, yi yi...bad bad lonely thing.

Strange. I didn't miss the computer at all
when I was gone. My daughter and her friend
checked their MySpace things and read their email,
but I could have cared less. Now, I care a whole
bunch. I hate being lonely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of islands and moments

No Man Is An Island

No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.


-- John Donne

***********************************************

I can see why Hemingway loved Key West and chose
to live there and work on some of his greatest books.
Though it was intolerably hot (to me) the day I was there,
the atmosphere was laid-back and jovial, people enjoying
their day of living on the fringes, far away from the mainland,
surrounded by water, thoughts of work to be done and
things to do left at home.

I was so terrified about the boat ride (or ferry ride,
I should say--it is a ferry--very large--incredibly smooth—
passengers only—no cars) that I had anxiety for weeks
about going, but I will do it again, when I can and if I can.
It was so relaxing to let someone else take you somewhere
hundreds of miles away, to a place you’ve never been,
surrounded by people you do not know, out there in the middle
of the water, no land in sight.

The water, oh my! I have never seen water like that--it truly
is emerald and so clear you can see the bottom even at 90
ft. or some such depth, and the sunset over the ocean (though
less spectacular than sunsets I have seen from shore) streaked
the sky with its pinks and corals and light greens and shots
of deep blue until there was nothing left of it and night
surrounded the ferry, which was making good speed
toward the mainland.


But that (the Key West trip) was just one very small part
of the entire trip, which has infected me, I'm afraid,
with an overwhelming sense of…hmmm, best not go where
my mind is wanting to go...some things are better left unsaid.

************************************

Started getting sick the first night of the trip. First cold
I've had in such a very long time. Still coughing and
stuffy but no worse. I think Isaac and I must be sharing
the same germ. He had to go to ER Sunday. Pneumonia
and an ear infection. I went to see him yesterday (what
a sweet smile for his GiGi!) and he seemed to be feeling
much better. I got him a cute shirt at Sloppy Joe's
in Key West (the Hemingway haunt bar--it was a cool
place (literally and figuratively!). We got home Monday
night. We spent 7 nights at my sister's in Naples
and then drove to Orlando and spent one night with
my husband's nephew and his family. It was all good--
all--the company, the food, the conversations, the drive,
the weather (well--it was a bit hotter than I like but
it was sunny the whole week and the beach was beautiful,
as always!).

Molly and the cats were fine. Son took care of them
for the most part. Hubby left for a race on Thursday
so youngest son was the only one here to take
care of things. He did a fine job, and he cleaned
the house up too! I was dumbfounded to walk in
and find everything so clean!

My niece's graduation was a fun day. I can't believe
I didn't burst into tears (my eyes filled up a few times
but no major downpours). I am so proud
of her and excited as well. She will be going to Simmons--
it's an all-girl college in Boston. I don't know much
about it, but she's stoked about going.

Other niece and her family are doing well too. Her boys
(my great-nephews) are so cute! One will be 2 in June
and the other will be 1 in August. She's a busy gal!

*****************************

Gotta get doing...still going through mail and papers.
Interview tomorrow--need to get prepared today.

It's good to get away, but it's good to be home.

A good day

Today was a good day. To see my daughter
receive her master's (with honors--summa cum laude)
knowing all the hard work she's done and is yet
to do. If you go into social work thinking you'll
get some kind of cushy job somewhere, then first
of all, you've not entered that field for the right
reasons. Secondly, you will find that life outside
of school and curriculum is not what life is all about,
but she already knows these things. She is a children's
counselor in a domestic violence center and has been
for some time. She did the first internship in a women's
prison--the second in an HIV/AIDS center.

She has so much respect for the people she meets--
whether it be at work or elsewhere. I entertain
the idea that I may get a master's at some point
in social work, but when it comes down to the nitty-
gritty, I confess that I am not sure I could do that
work every day. I have to ask myself--do you think
you're better, or do you think you could not take
the emotional strain, the giving, the ability to be kind
but firm, the guts she has to do what she does.

She's one gutsy gal. She's more than alright.
She knows her own issues and takes them as they
come--some days not wanting to own them, most
days trying to figure out a plan. Above all, she's
full of life and energy and compassion and wisdom
that far exceeds her years.

It was such a blessing that grandma and grandpa
could be there too, today. They were so thrilled.

And the party her friends threw for her was such fun
and such an eye-opening experience for us, her family
who are not with her on a daily basis.

She will and can make a difference. She will and can.

Tomorrow morning, I leave here at 6 or so. Drive
to Nashville to rouse two sleepy-headed young women
for the long drive to Naples. I should go to sleep,
but I am thinking of today--the wind blowing hard,
the sun so bright, the smiles on all of the faces
at graduation and the party, the time spent
with my family, the time coming up this week
to spend with my sister and her daughters--
her youngest graduating from high school on Friday,
her oldest with her two beautiful sons, the boat ride
to Key West.

On we go.

The Big Day


Tomorrow, my daughter receives her master's--
my second child to do so. And it's not so much the degree
as it is the dedication, consideration, hard work, and conviction
that the oldest two have shown in choosing their professions--not
because of the money they could make (not much in the ministry
or in social work), but in choosing a path in which they can make
such a difference in the lives of others. I am proud and happy.

This is to to my daughter and to all my children. I love them so.

May they stay forever young.


Video coming. Perhaps two.

REM

Missing

Some days he wears his prosthetic
leg, on others he walks with crutches,
shirtless, in shorts, no mistaking the loss

of a limb. I want to talk to him, but the dirt
on my hands and knees, my hair plastered
to my face after a morning in the garden,

stops me, as if the indication of my wholeness
may be met with suspicion, my own guilt
for having two legs rendering me as useless

as the stone that sits atop my dead cat's grave.
I don't know what I would say to him, nor how
I could explain my interest, its roots perhaps

more shallow than the hosta I just transplanted,
the rain starting to fall lightly now. I just want to know
if he feels it sometimes, that missing leg, if there is life

still pulsating beneath the knee, if he's angry,
how it happened. I project a pain that he may
not own at all, this young man, lovely dark hair

framing his face, my heart pounding in my chest,
its own lost rhythm knowing why I won't stand
up and go inside where my own losses, complete

but still there, would ring hollow and small, no sense
at all of what it would be like, thinking all the while
about that missing limb that no rain or sun or snow--

nor even the soft wet earth--will ever touch again.